“I must get rid of this excellent woman, who is certainly the most foolish person it has ever been my lot to meet. Good to hear! That servant of hers is under lock and key – things are going in the right direction...but they are not going well for me!... If he confesses tomorrow, when he is had up for examination, then the police will have the information before me!... then again, they are such dolts – such bunglers – that they are quite capable of giving that Jules his liberty!... What the devil must I do to prevent his being let loose, and how am I to stop the judicial interrogation? What a dog’s life a journalist’s is!” Madame Bourrat reappeared.

“Monsieur Nanteuil is not there,” she said. “But I got into communication with Monsieur Barbey. He advised me to wait till tomorrow: he said it was too late in the day to do anything.”

“But, will he not intervene tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. To tell the truth, I am sure Monsieur Barbey thought it very inconsiderate of me to disturb him about a matter in which he takes not the slightest interest.”

“That’s a fact. What possible interest can the bankers take in such a matter?... My advice was absurd!” Fandor rose. As he was seeing his visitor out, he said:

“In any case, dear madame, count on me tomorrow morning. I shall call at your house about eleven. If there is anything fresh, we can talk it over.”

*****

“Oh, here’s Janson-de-Sailly College!... Oh, what detestable memories you conjure up!... But – this won’t do!... Go it, my boy!... I must play the part.”

The plumber, who had just given utterance to these remarks, glanced sharply about him. When he had made sure that there was no one close on his heels, he stepped into the roadway, and started on a zigzag course which seemed likely to upset his balance. Crossing the avenue Henri-Martin, going straight towards the town hall at the corner of the rue de la Pompe, the good plumber, who was staggering more than a little, began to stutter and stammer in a drunken voice:

“It’s the final struggle!”

The passers-by looked round.

“They sing the Internationale in the streets now, it seems!” remarked a severe-looking gentleman.

The workman turned to this upright fellow.

“What of it ... Don’t you think it a jolly fine thing then?” In a thick voice he continued to sing:

“Let us gather, and on the morrow...” The severe and sober gentleman retorted:

“My friend, you would do better to hold your tongue!... You forget that there is a police station close by!” But the incorrigible plumber caught the gentleman by his coat tails.

“If I sing the Internationale, it’s because I’m a free man – ain’t I?... A free man can sing if he likes, can’t he?

Eh!... Why don’t you sing then? Eh?”